Peter had an acronym. A current necessity. Some more attractive than others, admittedly. And not IBS – though linked.
PIBS was his, occasionally categorised as PRIS. In that he shared a syndrome, almost as vital as an acronym. Even stuff deemed hateful six months back was acceptable now. What wasn’t now acceptable was de rigueur then. Got that, Harvey?
PRIS – Persistent Rectal Irritation Syndrome – sounded like a life sentence.
Scratchy Arse, they labelled him when, albeit furtively, assuaging his grievance.
Now, in this enlightened era, he scratched and yelled his acronym: “PIBS: Permanent Itchy Bum Syndrome!”
In his circle, who argued?
PIBS was his, occasionally categorised as PRIS. In that he shared a syndrome, almost as vital as an acronym. Even stuff deemed hateful six months back was acceptable now. What wasn’t now acceptable was de rigueur then. Got that, Harvey?
PRIS – Persistent Rectal Irritation Syndrome – sounded like a life sentence.
Scratchy Arse, they labelled him when, albeit furtively, assuaging his grievance.
Now, in this enlightened era, he scratched and yelled his acronym: “PIBS: Permanent Itchy Bum Syndrome!”
In his circle, who argued?
